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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24011857">Grow Something, Feed Someone, Love One Another</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahurston/pseuds/ahurston'>ahurston</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cas and Dean's Adventures in Gardening [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cooking, Domesticity, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gardening, Love Languages, M/M, Post-Season 15, Telepathy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:22:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24011857</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahurston/pseuds/ahurston</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In this post-God world, everything is different. A little quieter, a little softer. </p><p>Cas grows a garden, Dean cooks, and they take care of each other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cas and Dean's Adventures in Gardening [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803379</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>658</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Cover art by the gorgeous and talented <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/docolive/">DocOlive</a>!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>On the flat roof of the bunker, between wood-framed garden beds that Dean had helped to build, Cas is trying to explain the pros and cons of various tomato trellis designs. At length. Something about rope training, which takes Dean’s mind in a direction entirely unrelated to gardening. It’s around the seven minute mark when Dean realizes something. </p>
<p>“You like this. I mean, the gardening, or whatever. It’s something you enjoy, I guess?”</p>
<p>Cas nods. “I do.”</p>
<p>“That’s good, you should. Enjoy things, I mean.” Dean rubs at the back of his neck, hot under the late May sunshine. <em> Plants need direct light, Dean</em>, Cas had said, when Dean had complained about helping haul lumber all the way up to the roof rather than to the perfectly usable stretch of bare dirt available at ground level. </p>
<p>One side of Cas' mouth quirked up in a small grin. “Luckily, I enjoy lots of things.”</p>
<p>“Really? Like what?” Dean asks, genuinely curious. Life is different now, in this post-God world. They all have a little more time on their hands. The other day, he’d caught Sam <em> crocheting.</em></p>
<p>“I enjoy writing with that really nice pen from the pharmacy in Salina,” Cas replies seriously. </p>
<p>“Exciting,” Dean says, toeing at the corner of the garden bed closest to him, wondering if he should have used stronger corner brackets. </p>
<p>“A quality writing implement makes a world of difference. We should consider upgrading the office supplies around the bunker.”</p>
<p>“Uh huh. Okay.” Dean wonders where the nearest office supply store is. Seems a little crazy to drive to Grand Island for pens, but really, what else is he doing with his time? If Cas wants nice pens, he’ll get him nice pens. “What else? Gotta be something better than stolen drugstore pens.”</p>
<p>“Freshly laundered sheets. Why is it that they feel so much better? I would make a study of it, but given our area’s propensity for drought, it’s a difficult thing to morally justify. Especially as I barely sleep. Let’s see, what else. The Saturday crossword.”</p>
<p>Dean rolls his eyes. “No one can do the Saturday crossword.”</p>
<p>Cas cocks his head at Dean, smirking. </p>
<p>“Fine. You know everything, I get it. <em> You </em> can do the Saturday crossword.”</p>
<p>“Thank you. Oh, and hamburgers, especially the ones you make.”</p>
<p>Dean tries not to preen. “Got it. So what is it about gardening? Sure didn't seem like you were enjoying it when you were inspecting the compost for those little worm things a few weeks ago.”</p>
<p>"Cocoons of the invasive Jumping Worm, Dean," Cas corrects with a grimace. "From the genus Amynthas. They're an abomination, and I don't use that term lightly. If introduced, I'd have to start the whole garden from scratch, and it's too late in the season for the cold weather crops. So if you <em> want </em> to miss out on snap peas and butterhead lettuce..."</p>
<p>"No, no. I get it, I get it."</p>
<p>“Back to your question though. Not to put too fine a point on it, but, well. I’ve destroyed a great many things, over the course of my existence. It feels good to do the opposite. Create something, for a change.”</p>
<p>Dean goes still. </p>
<p>“After all, you were the last thing I created from near-scratch, and you turned out alright, I think," Cas adds, that half-smirk returning. "You should understand the impulse, anyway. You do the same thing."</p>
<p>"What do you mean? No offense, but applying dog piss to the dirt isn't really my idea of a good time."</p>
<p>Cas huffs. "I already explained to you the havoc a single rabbit can wreak upon tender crops. And they were fox urine extract pellets, not 'dog piss,'" Cas adds with air quotes. "The impulse to nurture something. Take care of it. Like the way you insist on feeding Sam, Jack, and me so well. Or why you have a calendar alert set for Jody’s birthday.”</p>
<p>“How did you know about that?” Dean asks, embarrassed. </p>
<p>“She texted me a picture of the card you sent her. A very tasteful design, I thought.”</p>
<p>Dean pales. “Oh, God. Did she - “</p>
<p>“Tell me that you watched ‘While You Were Sleeping’ with Jody and the girls, via Skype?”</p>
<p>“Uh. I can neither confirm nor deny -”</p>
<p>“It’s a wonderful film,” Cas says, cutting him off. </p>
<p>“Oh. It’s....it’s alright," Dean hedges. "Anyway though, what does cooking have to do with Sandra Bullock?”</p>
<p>Cas squats down next to the garden bed to twist a length of twine around the stalk of one of the plants, careful fingers pulling it gently upright. He wipes his hands on his jeans - pilfered from Dean, if the way they fit his ass is any indication. Not that Dean noticed. He just isn't...<em> not </em>noticing. It was fine. Normal for a friend to notice his buddy's ass, from time to time. </p>
<p>“You’re gentler than you realize, or will readily admit," Cas says, standing and turning toward him again. "You like this, living here. All of us, together."</p>
<p>It makes Dean want to leap off the roof to have it put so bluntly, but that's Cas. And it's true, anyway. These last few months, with Sam, Cas, and Jack, everyone safe and whole and presently in possession of their soul... probably the longest stretch of peace he's ever lived through. </p>
<p>"Sure," Dean says dismissively, looking around for a change in topic that doesn't get so close to dredging up any other personal vulnerabilities. "So, do you think you're gonna need me to build any more of those stick things for the green beans -"</p>
<p>"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, drawing attention to it," Cas says seriously, eyebrows drawn together. "I just meant, it's okay for you to enjoy things too."</p>
<p>Dean sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. </p>
<p>"Thanks, I guess. You hungry, by the way? I picked up some charcoal when we were in town, thought I could grill some kebabs tonight. Do you think Sam would notice if I stole some saffron from his witchy magic supplies, for a little pilaf? I don't think we're going to be summoning any desert spirits for a while anyway, so he doesn't need it."</p>
<p>Cas smiles at him, his whole face involved in the action. Dean can't <em> not </em> notice the little crinkles next to his eyes.</p>
<p>****</p>
<p>“Dean, these are <em> awesome,</em>” Sam says around a mouthful of grilled meat and vegetables. Gross, but a compliment all the same. </p>
<p>Cas gives Dean's foot a meaningful nudge under the table, smiling at his plate as if to say <em> ‘see.’ </em></p>
<p>“You don’t think there’s too much mustard in the marinade? I wasn’t totally sure on substituting the Dijon for the -”</p>
<p>“It’s perfect,” Jack says, neatly slicing his bell pepper chunks into strips before spearing them with his fork. Who taught him that? It obviously wasn’t Sam. </p>
<p>“What makes the rice so yellow?” Sam asks, before shoveling some of the saffron pilaf into his mouth.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says. </p>
<p>****</p>
<p>Dean is at the war room table, laptop open, when Sam comes up behind him. </p>
<p>“What’re you doing?” he asks, a hand on the back of Dean’s chair. </p>
<p>Dean quickly short-cuts out of the tab he was on. </p>
<p>“Ugh, nevermind. Gross, Dean. Not in common spaces,” Sam says, backing away. </p>
<p>“It wasn’t <em> porn</em>. It was just. Something for Cas.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Like, a present, or something?” Sam says, plopping into a chair on the other side of the table and cocking his head at him curiously. </p>
<p>“What? Why would I be getting Cas a present,” Dean says, clicking tab after tab closed with more force than technically necessary. </p>
<p>“I don’t know - you guys seem...close, now. All the gardening and whatever. A present would be nice. People like those.”</p>
<p>“Cas isn’t <em> people,</em>” Dean objects. </p>
<p>Sam smiles, like he knows a secret. It's annoying. “Well, sure, but -”</p>
<p>“It’s just pens. That’s it. He said he likes nice pens, and the ones we have are shitty. Thought I’d see if there’s somewhere I can order some from online that’ll deliver to our P.O. box in town.”</p>
<p>“Ballpoint or rollerball?” Sam asks.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“What kind of pen does he like?”</p>
<p>“Do I look like I fucking know?” </p>
<p>Sam laughs, but when Dean decidedly doesn’t, he bites back his grin. </p>
<p>“Ballpoint, then. Something nice,” Sam says with a decisive nod, steepling his fingers together. “Let me see what you’ve found so far.”</p>
<p>****</p>
<p>When the package arrives a week later, Dean doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. He waits until Cas is busy with the garden before slipping into his room and leaving the package of three Cross Century Classic pens on his desk, next to the veritable miniature stationary shop Cas has set up. Notebooks and index cards and post-it notes, all meticulously organized. But also, Dean notices, all cheap as shit. </p>
<p>Dean’s going to fix that. </p>
<p>****</p>
<p>Things start showing up in the pantry. First, it barely registers. An expensive-looking jar of preserved lemons. A bottle of olive oil with actual Italian on the label. But then there’s a small tub of gojuchang in the cupboard, Irish butter in the fridge, sea salt flakes in the spice drawer.</p>
<p>Dean is positive that the Lebanon EconoFoods doesn't carry Irish butter. He knows because he's <em> checked </em>.</p>
<p>“Hey, you been going grocery shopping? Somewhere new?” Dean asks Sam one morning, as Sam meticulously spreads almond butter on his whole wheat toast. </p>
<p>“Uh, no? Thanks for the chia seeds, by the way - really good in smoothies after my runs.”</p>
<p>“What? Fuck, I did <em> not </em> buy you diarrhea seeds. We share a bathroom, for Christ’s sake. There’s this thing called <em> self-preservation... </em>”</p>
<p>“Then where -” Sam starts to say, ignoring the jab. </p>
<p>“Cas.” </p>
<p>Dean can feel that his face is doing something really stupid right about now, so he swipes Sam’s plate right out from under his toast and turns to wash it at the sink for something to do with his hands. </p>
<p>****</p>
<p>Next, Dean swaps Cas’ busted up garden trowel out for one with a lifetime warranty. He justifies the price tag by telling himself the forged steel could double as a weapon against Celtic fairies, should any ever find their way to central Kansas. </p>
<p>The next day, Dean’s heating up a pan on the stove to make breakfast when he reaches into the utensil drawer for a spatula. Instead of his usual, half-melted piece of shit, he finds a brand new one. Silicone with a stainless steel handle. </p>
<p>When he sets Cas’ plate of eggs down in front of him, he squeezes his shoulder in silent thanks. </p>
<p>It starts getting competitive after that. </p>
<p>****</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Hey Dean, I swung through the post office and picked up another package for you," Jack says, coming down the stairs. “The lady at the desk asked if we could switch to a larger P.O. box if you're going to keep ordering so many things online. What is all this stuff for, anyway?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nothin', just some things we need around the bunker," Dean says evasively. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ohh-kay. Anyway, have you seen Cas? He and I were going to practice sparring.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Haven’t seen him all day. Why would you think I’ve seen Cas?” Dean says, grimacing at the snap in his voice when Jack flinches. The kid is a whole lot more sensitive now, with his soul intact. Dean is trying to be nicer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s just, it’s not like he and Cas are attached at the hip. Sure, he was helping Cas repair the bird netting around his cherry tomato plants not twenty minutes ago. But that’s none of Jack’s business. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh. You guys are...friends? He lives here? Just thought you might...know where he is.” Jack says, with a very Cas-like tilt to his head, and oh shit. Now Dean’s gone and made him curious. That won't end well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean deflates. “He’s probably on the roof. He said something about needing to conduct a slug inspection this morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Jack eyes him warily, setting the package on the table gingerly, like it might explode. He makes a quick exit, giving Dean the privacy he needs to study the instruction manual for the new watering timer he bought to attach to Cas’ irrigation system. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Turn it to the right, 20 degrees,” Cas says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like...that?” Dean says, rotating the planter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s fine. 22 degrees, but it will probably be okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t want you to settle - how’s this?” Dean says, shifting it slightly and breathing heavily. This planter is fucking heavy as shit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“19.7 degrees. Very good, Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean’s face feels warm at the praise. Ridiculous. Probably just heat stress or something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Remind me why I’m doing this?” Dean asks, dusting his hands off on his pants. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lettuce can bolt in the heat of summer. The partial shade from the bulkhead will offer some protection.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean nods, feigning understanding. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It means they’ll grow a stalk and go to seed if they get too hot,” Cas explains, kneeling down to examine his plants at eye level. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds kinda dirty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it is part of the plant’s reproductive cycle. Producing seed is undesirable however, as it causes the crop to become bitter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, it’s been too long. He’s getting vaguely horny about </span>
  <em>
    <span>lettuce</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Bitter seed? Jesus Christ.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you still want to use some of the arugula for tonight’s dinner?” Cas asks, steering Dean’s thoughts to safer waters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m making this fancy grain salad for Sam’s birthday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ensuing conversation about the difficulty involved in manually grinding dried Persian limes results in a brand new spice mill when Dean is rooting around in the cupboard for the waffle iron a week later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean looks away from the TV and this round of Mario Kart, allowing Sam to overtake him on Rainbow Road with a well-placed banana that sends him careening over the edge. He hits pause. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas is in the doorway, in sandals and wearing one of Dean’s shirts. It’s a good look. He’s gotten tan, all these days spent on the roof, and it really brings out his eyes. Which is something Dean definitely didn’t just think. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s something I’d like to show you in the garden, if you have a minute.” His smile slips. “But I don’t want to interrupt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure thing. We were done anyway,” Dean says, flashing Sam a quick look to shut him up. Sam smirks, but whatever. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Up on the roof, Dean shrugs out of his flannel overshirt, hanging it on the wall-mounted hose reel he installed last week after Cas had tripped on one of the snakelike hoses forming a maze across the garden. Wouldn’t want someone to get hurt up here, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he looks up, Cas is watching him, and quickly looks away like he’s been caught. Weird. Cas has seen him in a lot less than a t-shirt, especially lately. Hard not to run into your roommates in the shower room sometimes, and Dean’s never been especially prone to modesty in his own home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So. What did you want me to see?” Dean asks, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining that Cas’ cheeks look a little pink. Probably just the sun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. It’s nothing special. I mean, it is to me, but. It’s perfectly mundane.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Show me,” Dean says, rather than say something unforgivably sappy about how whatever is important to Cas is important to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, come over here, to the peas,” Cas says, and Dean follows him as he weaves between the garden beds, free from the hazard of loose hoses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas kneels down, face level with the first row of trellis netting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look at this,” he says, pointing to where the pea plants have just reached the nylon string. “See how their little tendrils have wrapped themselves around the thread? They only twine in an anti-clockwise fashion. Isn’t that incredible?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean nods encouragingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>reach around</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the air to find something to latch onto. It’s a form of sentience, I think. Like they know how to recognize what can support them,” Cas says, tracing a careful finger over the veins of one bright green leaf. “I wonder if that’s an intuition all living things have - to find something to hold onto. Plant and human alike. Even semi-fallen angels, I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean swallows, unsure what to say to that. He wants to touch him. Wrap his arm around his shoulders or something. But that’d be weird, probably. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He installs additional bamboo poles that night, tying the netting carefully to each with some of Cas’ garden twine. All to better support the peas and their tendrils, searching for something to cling onto. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What're you doing?" Dean asks, peering over Sam's shoulder at his laptop screen. "Is that one of those quizzes that tells you what Hogwarts house you'd belong in? Send it to me. Gryffindor all the way, baby."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're totally a Hufflepuff, and no. It's a questionnaire to determine your love language. Cas sent it to me," Sam says, answering a question about whether he prefers hugs or love letters. What the fuck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Cas sent you a... love quiz."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Love </span>
  <em>
    <span>language</span>
  </em>
  <span> quiz. He said he wants to get to know me better, how I receive affection. Don't freak out."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"W</span>
  <span>hy would I freak out? I'm not freaking out. Cas wants to show you affection. He didn't send me the quiz, so what."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam laughs. Rude. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Pretty sure he's already got you pegged."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean clears his throat at the choice of phrasing as Sam bites back a grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I mean, he's been getting you all those gifts, right?" Sam continues, as if Dean was eager to talk about this in more detail. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure.” Sam fits an impressive amount of condescension into a single word. “Well, just so you’re aware, that collection of first edition Vonneguts that randomly showed up in the library. Receiving gifts - that’s a love language. Do you feel loved, Dean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Screw you. Cas doesn’t - he’s not.... That’s not what’s going on,” Dean insists, as he watches Sam answer the next question in the quiz, choosing compliments over back rubs. Clearly, his brother is insane, and his judgment can’t be trusted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh, okay. Well, just so you’re aware, based on this assessment, my primary love language is apparently ‘Words of Affirmation.’ So. Feel free to let me know how much you appreciate my wisdom, anytime.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean flips him off as he stomps toward the kitchen. He's got some sourdough that's finished autolysing on the counter and could use a vigorous kneading.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That night, he thinks about what Sam said. Then for a few days. A week and a half. He calls eight grocery stores and drives three towns over in a search for alphonso mangoes because Cas says he hasn’t had any since he was in India during the 16th century. Watching Cas close his eyes when he bites into a piece of the fruit makes it worth it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas, meanwhile, listens as Dean explains the best way to shape a loaf of bread and how to know when it’s done proofing. He helps him replace the timing belt in the Impala even though it takes an entire morning, and lets him win at chess. He even lies and says Dean is really getting better at Mario Kart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So one night, Dean summons his courage and knocks softly on the open door to Cas’ room to talk about this. Whatever <em>this</em> is. Cas is seated at his desk, the glow of his lamp illuminating half his face in a way that Dean is studiously ignoring. Except maybe...maybe he doesn’t have to ignore it. Maybe, he can just. Look. Maybe that would be okay, and Cas wouldn’t mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, uh, Cas? You busy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not at all,” Cas says, turning around in his chair to face Dean. “How can I help you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, no - don’t need help with anything. Just checking on you, to see, uh. That we’re...good. You know where we stand, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas tilts his head at him. “Do you want to sit down? I confess I’m not quite sure what you're talking about.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Funny, because suddenly Dean's not sure either. It had seemed a lot more straightforward when Dean had practiced this conversation alone in his room. He</span>
  <span> rubs at the bridge of his nose, before giving in and heading toward the foot of Cas’ bed to take a seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re good, that’s all I’m saying," Dean says. "You don’t have to, I don’t know. Earn anything. There's no merit system. You’ve always got a place here, with me. With us, I mean. Sam, Jack and me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas smiles softly. “Thank you, Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said I’m happier, with all of us here together. I think maybe you’re right, so. So...just. Stay, maybe. If you want to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quality Time,” Cas says, with a decisive nod. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your love language. One of them, anyway. Quality Time. It means a lot to you, that I stay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean blanches, stomach clenching, and suddenly coming in here seems like a mistake. He should retreat while there's still time and some of his pride left. But then his mouth starts moving without his authorization. “So you’re saying you...are only staying because it means something to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s one of my languages too, Dean. I’m happier here, spending quality time with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. That’s...good,” Dean says, licking his lips, and seeing Cas track the movement. Suddenly, Dean is hyper-aware of the distance between their thighs. The way that if he moved an inch closer, their shoulders would brush. “You said, uh, Quality Time was just one of my love languages, or whatever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas blinks at him, shaking his head just a little, as if to focus. It feels warm in here. Close. “Yes, you have several others. Acts of Service, for one. We have that in common too. You enjoy gifts, but only when they are personal and meaningful, demonstrating that the gift-giver knows you well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean rubs at the back of his neck, avoiding Cas’ eyes. But he doesn’t deny it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, Words of Affirmation, I’m not so sure. Compliments make you uncomfortable, but sometimes I wonder if that discomfort would fade with practice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean swallows. “You want to practice...giving me compliments?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I want </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>to practice being complimented. Praised.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, okay.” Dean shifts on the bed. Now would be a really inappropriate time to be...reacting...to the depth of Cas’ voice. It sounds different, in the near-dark. “Isn’t there one other? Another, uh, love language?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. It’s, um.” Cas hesitates, looking away. “Physical touch. But I think you might be uncomfortable exploring that manner of showing affection as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What makes you think that?” Dean can’t help but ask, his mouth again executing plans of its own, independently of his brain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, maybe I assumed incorrectly,” Cas says quietly, turning toward him again, their faces inches apart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he has to know, before he - before he tries anything that could change everything. He can’t be wrong, not about Cas.  “So what’s this all about, Cas?” Dean asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Opportunities to save your life are in short supply these days. I had to find another way to show you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Show me what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How much I -” he huffs out a breath. “Dean,” Cas says, like that’s answer enough. Maybe it is. "You have to know how much I -"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean cups a hand around the back of his neck, and pulls him in. Cas goes willingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cas kisses like it means something. Like <em> Dean </em> means something. And shit - maybe to Cas, he does.</p><p>For his part, Dean’s doing his best just to keep up and remember to breathe, with Cas’ mouth slow on his. As if they’re in no rush, nowhere else they need to be. And for once in Dean’s miserable life, there isn’t. He can just be here, kissing Cas. </p><p>He remembers then that he can move his hands. That he’s got permission for that, judging by the way that Cas’ hands are everywhere at once. Cas’ palms sweeping wide on his back, fingers curling into his hair and then back down, like he can’t decide. </p><p>“Shhh, s’okay,” Dean whispers, when Cas starts kissing a line down the side of his neck, breaths coming quick against his skin. </p><p>“No, you don’t understand, Dean,” Cas says, one hand fisted in the back of Dean’s shirt, the other spread on his thigh. Dean can feel the press of every fingertip. “How long I’ve -”</p><p>“Me too. The whole time,” Dean says, and just like that, it’s out there. And it only took him eleven years to say. </p><p>Cas groans, letting his head thunk onto Dean's shoulder. "We should talk about this first. About so many things."</p><p>"Mm, or maybe that could, uh, wait?" Dean says into his ear, fingers slipping underneath the bottom hem of Cas' threadbare t-shirt. </p><p>"You make a compelling case," Cas says, laughing softly into his neck before pressing a kiss there. "But yes. We should. First."</p><p>Dean pulls back, searching Cas' face. "Is something wrong, or..." </p><p>Of course something's wrong, of course he doesn't want this like Dean does. Who the fuck is he kidding, that Cas would want to -</p><p>"Stop that," Cas says, bringing a hand to Dean’s face, thumbing at the corner of his mouth. “I said we should talk. But I’m wondering if there’s another way.”</p><p>Dean tries not to lean into Cas’ palm. It’s been awhile since he’s been touched like this. </p><p>He’s never been touched like this. </p><p>“Another way to...what, exactly?” Dean asks. </p><p>“Tell you everything. Or show you, rather.” Cas’ hand shifts to cup his jaw, kissing him again. “I can let you into my mind. Just a portion of it. More than that might be...disadvantageous for your health.”</p><p>“Uh...”</p><p>“There’s nothing to be afraid of. I won’t hurt you.”</p><p>And Dean knows that’s true, probably the truest thing there is. He nods. Cas tips toward him until their foreheads are touching, and then, at the corner of Dean’s consciousness, he feels something. Something familiar, Cas-shaped. And Dean closes his eyes and lets it in, lets Cas in. </p><p>He can’t even make sense of it at first, what he’s seeing, everything he can feel from Cas’ mind. Then, the picture clears, and he sees snapshots of memories.</p><p>Dean sees hell laid waste. Cas blurs the images - a kindness - so all Dean’s getting are impressions, and the feelings. The way Cas felt when he killed his ten thousandth demon and came face-to-face with Dean, torturing some poor, screaming soul on the rack. Except he doesn’t feel revulsion from Cas. Instead, it’s shock, and something possessive. Dean shudders with the force of it. </p><p>Fast-forward. When something twists inside Cas as Anna kisses him, he can feel Cas’ confusion at the emotion he can’t identify. <em> Jealousy</em>, Dean thinks in Cas’ general direction, smug. The returning eyeroll is palpable. </p><p>He sees himself sleeping in a dozen shitty motel rooms, always badly. He watches Cas place a steady palm on his back or his shoulder or his arm, and then, invariably, he sees his own face settle and his fists unclench in the sheets. He feels how proud Cas is each time, how glad he is that he can do this one small thing right.</p><p>Then, Dean feels the weight of his own arm around Cas’ shoulders outside a brothel in Maine, and his own gut flips to feel Cas wanting him for the first time. </p><p>Next comes the war in heaven, the threat of Raphael, and all the pressure Cas was under. <em> I know, Cas </em> <em>I understand, </em>Dean thinks at him. But then suddenly he’s watching himself rake leaves in Lisa Braeden’s yard, and he realizes he didn’t understand any of it, not really, until now. </p><p>He sees his own face at the footsteps of a house in Colorado, when Cas was someone else entirely with no memory at all of him. Jesus, did he really look at Cas like that? Like he...like he always...</p><p>Dean sees purgatory then, the ache Cas carries with him at every step to know that he’s going to send Dean through that portal alone. Cas watches him as he sleeps, chin to his knees and unblinking, for hours. </p><p>The sessions with Naomi make Dean flinch. Cas is killing copies of him at her command, hundreds of begging, pleading Deans, over and over again. But when it's actually him, Cas drops the knife. This part, Dean remembers for himself, albeit through the pain-soaked haze of a broken nose and jaw. The explanation for what broke Naomi's hold on him though - that's new. </p><p>There's Cas, lonely, human, and exhausted on the cold tile floor of the Gas n' Sip, his work vest bunched up beneath his head like the world's saddest pillow, typing out and deleting texts to Dean. And Dean can't take it anymore. </p><p>He pulls back, and it severs the connection. Cas is looking at him, eyes wide and worried. </p><p>"Nothin' wrong, Cas, it's just - can this mindmeld thing go both ways? There's some shit you need to see."</p><p>"Oh, yes. I wasn't sure if you'd - I didn't want to pressure you. Your mind is your own. Only show me what you want me to see."</p><p>Dean nods, leaning forward until they're touching again.</p><p>Then, he hears it. </p><p>
  <em> Okay, Dean. What do you want to show me? </em>
</p><p>Dean shivers at the closeness of Cas’ voice in his mind, at how he can still feel Cas' breath against his mouth, inches away. He takes a deep breath before landing on one specific moment. </p><p>Cas is there, under a streetlamp in Nowhere, Ohio. Impossibly alive. He shows Cas everything he felt then; a comprehensive tour of his relief, hope, and overwhelmed joy. As well as what he’d wanted to do if Sam hadn’t been standing next to him. </p><p>He’s taken off guard when Cas kisses him. He feels the echo of the kiss through the connection, and that’s...wow. That’s worth investigating further. But first, he shows Cas more, shows him everything. </p><p>****</p><p>It’s dark when Dean next opens his eyes. He tries to sit up only to be pulled back down into the sheets by familiar arms. </p><p>“<em> Shh, Dean. Sleep</em>,” Cas says, his voice rough, and it takes Dean a second to realize he didn’t move his mouth to form the words.</p><p><em> I wasn’t sleeping, </em> Dean thinks back at him. </p><p>Cas laughs, and Dean feels the vibration of his chest against his back. </p><p>“You’ve been asleep for approximately 87 minutes. You were showing me a memory that took place at some point in 2016,” Cas says, aloud this time. “Two men you met during a case. Hunters. A couple.”</p><p>Dean rolls over to face him, his back protesting. Cas’ mattress sucks. </p><p>“Husbands. And I wanted what they had,” he says, the dark of the room and Cas’ palm on the small of his back making him brave. “Someone who gets it. Someone who understands the life. But there was something else. They got out, together. So what they had, it really...it wasn’t just the job, I guess.”</p><p>“You’re worth more than the sum of your skills, formidable though they may be,” Cas says, slipping his hand underneath the hem of Dean’s shirt, fingertips ghosting over his tailbone and making Dean shudder. “What’s more, considering the absence of any remaining higher power, and the closed gates to heaven and hell, one could argue we’ve gotten out too. And I’m still here. With you.”</p><p>Dean swallows hard at that, and he wishes there was some space between them for this conversation, or better yet, no space at all. Fuck it, plausible deniability is well out the window anyway. He shimmies a leg between Cas’, keeping their hips a couple inches apart. This would sure be a fuckall lot better without clothes, but Dean will take what he can get. Anything to get a little closer. </p><p>Then Cas fucking <em> grins </em> at him. </p><p><em> We’re still connected, </em>Dean hears in his head. </p><p>Oh, shit. </p><p><em> So you. Heard that</em>. <em> The thing about, uh.  </em></p><p>“If you wanted to be closer, all you had to do was ask,” Cas says, weaseling his other arm underneath Dean’s and pulling him forward into a frankly humiliating full-body hug. If only Dean could remember to be humiliated rather than really fucking happy about it. </p><p>“I’m going to sever the connection to your mind now,” Cas says, and that’s all the warning Dean gets before he suddenly feels a twenty degree drop in the room’s temperature, and a weird feeling of pervasive loneliness. </p><p>Dean shivers, pulling Cas closer still. “Uh, does a mindmeld with an angel usually come with a free space heater?”</p><p>Cas laughs, cupping one hand around the back of Dean’s neck before sliding his fingers into his hair and using the other to haul the blankets over them both. </p><p> “You might perceive the connection as heat-generating. That’s not surprising, though I’ve never heard of it before. Angels do run at a significantly higher core body temperature than humans, even while occupying a vessel.”</p><p>“They say that skin-on-skin contact is the most efficient means of preventing hypothermia,” Dean hedges, tugging on Cas’ thigh until it’s hitched around his waist. </p><p>“I see. So disrobing with you would be for purely pragmatic purposes,” Cas says solemnly, eyes flashing. </p><p>“Totally pragmatic,” Dean says, teasing at the edge of Cas’ boxers, some ridiculously cheap polyester things that Dean is horrified to admit might be the only pair of underwear Cas owns. </p><p>“In the interests of rationalism then, may I undress you, Dean?”</p><p>Dean nods. </p><p>“How do you typically like this part to go?” Cas asks.</p><p>“Uh, how do you mean.”</p><p>“I mean, when a partner undresses you. Slowly, or more perfunctory? Or would you like to do it yourself, if it makes you self-conscious to have someone do it for you? Do you like to be watched, and if so, with or without commentary?”</p><p>“Um." Dean's brain isn't home at the moment, please try again later.</p><p>"Or would you prefer not to answer a multitude of questions and instead rely upon the fact that I know you very, very well?"</p><p>Dean nods. </p><p>"I thought so," Cas says, obviously pleased. “Take off your clothes, Dean. Don’t make it a performance. I just want to see you.”</p><p>How did he fucking <em> know.  </em></p><p>Dean strips down, leaving his clothes in a disgruntled heap beside the bed. He sits on the edge of the bed, facing away from Cas, completely unsure of what to do next. </p><p>“Your back is very beautiful,” Cas says, taking the decision out of his hands, fingertips tracing over his back from neck to tailbone. “When I raised you and rebuilt your body, you had a slight defect - spina bifida occulta. Invisible, and relatively common. I addressed it, obviously. You’re without fault.”</p><p>Dean shudders as Cas spirals his fingers around the knobs of his spine. </p><p>“Uh, thanks,” he manages to say, feeling goosebumps rise on his skin where Cas’ touch has been. </p><p> “When God created Adam in the Garden, he made mistakes. I should know, I was there. A loose patella, a minor cardiac arrhythmia. Astigmatism and a slight propensity for inherited rheumatoid arthritis. You’re now afflicted with none of these.”</p><p>“You corrected my <em> genes </em>?” Dean asks, scowling over his shoulder. </p><p>“You would prefer to have knobbled knuckles by age 44?” Cas asks, eyebrow raised. </p><p>“Well, no, but shouldn’t you have asked first?” Dean sputters. </p><p>“At the time, you were mere bones and mortifying flesh, so no,” Cas says bluntly, sweeping both hands over his (blessedly intact) shoulder blades. </p><p>“Gross.”</p><p>“Back to the matter at hand. You are, in fact, faultless. And you were before, to be clear. Musculoskeletal defects and all. Nothing I could have done would have made you any more perfect than you already were.”</p><p>Dean shrugs, glad he’s facing the wall so Cas can’t see the way he knows he looks right now. Embarrassed, and proud, and greedy. He hasn’t heard someone say this many nice things about him in a row since...</p><p>Well.</p><p>“Lie down, Dean. On your back, please, and under the covers.” </p><p>Dean complies, pulling the blankets up to his chest. “But, uh, I thought you wanted to see me.”</p><p>“I do, but first, I thought we could just lie together,” Cas says, rubbing at the back of his neck in the first display of uncertainty Dean’s seen from him tonight. “For a bit.”</p><p>“That works, sure. But uh, will you be wearing -” Dean gestures vaguely. “All that?”</p><p>Cas laughs, before shrugging out of his t-shirt in an effortlessly unpracticed way that Dean finds undeniably sexy. He steps out of his pants and horrible boxers, stopping to fold the whole mess thoughtfully and place it on top of his dresser, as thought he might need to be presentable and dressed again at a moment’s notice. Cas pulls back the covers, sliding in beside him but leaving several inches of space. </p><p>“Saving room for Jesus?”</p><p>Cas looks at him, confused. “Jesus was a fine and honorable man, and he made no secret of his passionate relationship with Mary Magdalene, his wife. They engaged in sexual intercourse at an impressive frequency, especially considering the personal hygiene standards of the day.”</p><p>Dean buries his head in the pillow, smothering a laugh, but no less turned on. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Really, Cas? Jesus trivia?” Dean says, rolling onto his side to face him. “You sure know how to get a guy going.”</p><p>“You’re saying it’ll be a challenge?" Cas says archly, face resting on his palm. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but you <em> are </em>already in bed with me.”</p><p>“Hey,” Dean says, shoving at his shoulder, but his heart's not in it. He’s easy, fine. And Cas can keep up with the Mythbusters: Bible Edition all he wants if it means Dean gets to touch him. </p><p>More than ten years they've been at this - the pulled punches of touches cut short. Dean can't help but be greedy now. </p><p>Cas' fingers circle his wrist, rolling smoothly onto his back and pulling Dean along with him. Dean drops down to catch his balance, his forearms bracketing Cas’ head. </p><p>“If you wanted me closer, all you had to do was ask,” Dean jokes, their mouths an inch apart, but it comes out annoyingly sincere. </p><p>“I’ve always wanted you closer, Dean,” Cas says, like it's easy, as easy as his hands find their place on Dean's hips like they already know the terrain.</p><p>Dean kisses him then, because he <em> can</em>. Cas lets him lead it - Dean’s under no illusions about that. He lets Dean lick open his mouth, slow and then desperate until Cas is tracing fingertips up his spine under his shirt like Dean is a spooked horse rather than a 40-something guy about to (hopefully) fuck his best friend. </p><p>Cas hooks a leg around his waist then, rolling them again until he’s pressing Dean into the mattress and oh, that’s better. Cas shifts down between his knees, a hand on the center of Dean’s chest when Dean tries to sit up to chase his mouth.</p><p>Then, that's Cas' breath on his fucking <em> inner thigh</em>, Cas' hands pushing his knees apart, and oh fuck, this is going to get embarrassing real fast, and Dean didn't wait more than ten years only to -</p><p>"Hang on, hang on," Dean says, pulling at Cas' hair in a way he'd feel the need to apologize for if Cas was anything approaching human. "Just - be less hot for a second, alright? Tell me a gardening fact. More Bible trivia. Something."</p><p>Cas looks up at him, eyebrow raised, his slightly smirking mouth a hairsbreadth away from Dean’s dick. </p><p>"The book of Numbers might be a little dry," Cas says, "But I am certain that were I to quote from another book and speak of the taste of your fruit,” he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the junction of groin and thigh. “And your sweet wine, flowing past lips and tongue,” Cas says, a too-brief, sucking kiss to the head of Dean’s cock. “You might feel differently about the Good Book’s erotic potential.”</p><p>Dean groans, scrabbling at the bedding for something to hold onto. </p><p>"And the garden, plenty of metaphorical sensuality to be found there as well." Cas adds, tugging at Dean's hands, clenched in the sheets. He turns them palm out, and laces their fingers together before he brings their joined hands up to the bars of the headboard. "There's something evocative about the way the vines twine themselves and <em> grip</em>," he says, wrapping Dean's fingers one by one around the bars. "Keep these here, please."</p><p>Dean nods, the air sucked from his lungs. How did he -</p><p>"You experience gratification from being pleasing to others,” Cas says simply in response to the unasked question, eyes roving from his hands down his body like a physical touch. "Don't be embarrassed - it's a feature, not a bug. So I thought you might like me to be very clear with you about what would please me.” </p><p>Dean swallows hard, adjusting his grip on the bars and trying to form a coherent thought, a herculean task given the circumstances. “Yeah, uh. You can boss me around, sure.” </p><p>“That’s not what I said,” Cas says before licking a stripe up the side of his cock. </p><p>“It’s fine, it’s cool. We can do that,” Dean says, arching his back and neck in a stretch that he’s fully aware he pulls off. “I don’t mind.”</p><p>“Dean,” Cas says, sitting back on his knees and frowning down at him. </p><p>Dean drops back to the mattress, and something like shame sends all the blood in his body rushing to his face. Great.</p><p>“I think we can set the bar a little higher than something you ‘don’t mind,’” Cas says, mouth quirking in a half smile full of more concentrated kindness than Dean can handle. “Can you tell me what you want?”</p><p>“A lot of things, I don’t know. A decade’s worth of things. Not really short on ideas,” Dean says, babbling. The understatement of the year. “But can you - I just wanna not think, for a bit. So maybe, uh, help me stop thinking.”</p><p>Cas tips his head to the side. “I’m not sure I follow.”</p><p>“You could give me something else to do instead. Something I’m good at doing. With my mouth.”</p><p>A v-shaped wrinkle forms between Cas’ eyebrows. </p><p>“Let me suck you off, Cas. That’s what I’m saying.”</p><p>Cas nods, smiling like Dean just proposed marriage rather than the clumsy offer of a blowjob. </p><p>They switch positions, Cas on his back and Dean making a meandering journey from the slope of his neck down to the tattoo over his ribs, following the Enochian letters with his tongue. His hands find their place holding Cas’ hips down, Cas letting him <em> hold him down</em>, Jesus, as Dean licks his lips and swirls his tongue around the crown before sinking down until he’s at his limit. </p><p>Cas is swearing and gasping and being all kinds of flattering, his hands petting at Dean’s hair, his shoulders. There are some ‘I love you’s’ mixed in with what sounds like epic poetry or more biblical references. It’s frankly hard to say, when all Dean can think about is how damn good it feels to make Cas feel this good. It’s been a while since he’s done this - more than a while - but it’s like riding a bike. He hasn’t forgotten how to ease off when he feels Cas’ cock jerk against his tongue, how to press the head against the back of his throat and swallow. That gets him Cas’ nails, scratching at his back, and Dean smiles around a mouthful of dick. </p><p>But he’s still thinking. Pulling out tricks, trying to make this the best Cas has ever had so that he never wants anything else..any<em>one</em> else...so that he never...</p><p>Dean’s rhythm falters, and Cas notices. Because of course he does. He cups Dean’s face in his hands, thumbs sweeping across his cheeks. But Dean’s busy here, he is, so instead of reacting to the unasked question in how gently Cas is touching him, he takes as much into his throat as he can and presses two fingers behind Cas’ balls. </p><p>“Dean, wait,” Cas says on a gasp. </p><p>Dean pulls off with one more suck to the head, licking his lips because he finally knows how Cas fucking <em> tastes</em>. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Cas asks, thumbing over Dean’s eyebrow, eyes clear and focused which is frankly a little offensive. He’s good at this, and he needs Cas to fucking <em> lose it</em>. </p><p>“Uh...” Dean’s got at least six lies on the tip of his tongue, anything to get Cas to stop looking at him with that goddamn worried expression. But maybe, for once, he should try the truth instead. “Just, I got in my own head, I guess. Kind of felt like this was a one-shot thing for a second,” Dean answers, rubbing at the back of his neck and closing his eyes for a second, sure he’s ruined things and Cas is about to say that maybe Dean should go back to his own room and they'll talk about this again in another eleven-slash-one million years.</p><p>“This is an ‘every day for the rest of our lives’ thing, Dean,” Cas says easily, hand gentle on the side of his face, “If you’ll have me.”</p><p>Dean lets out a wet laugh, smiling into the warm skin of Cas’ hip and feeling like maybe, for once, he could keep something good. </p><p>“Can we switch again?” Dean asks after a flash of inspiration. “Get me on my back, and you can really fuck my mouth.”</p><p>“Is that - is that what you want though?” Cas asks, uncertain, even as he’s hooking two fingers into Dean’s mouth, wet and eager. “That sounds...”</p><p>“Awesome, Cas - it sounds awesome.”</p><p>Cas laughs, nods. So Dean gracelessly flips to his back, waving Cas over and running his hands up the muscles of Cas’ thighs as he settles over his chest. </p><p>“That’s right, okay. Let me just -” Dean reaches over to pull another pillow under his head, getting the angle right. He gets his hands on Cas’ ass, tugging him forward until he can pull the head of his cock into his mouth, letting it rest on his tongue. He groans out a little encouragement, nudging Cas forward until Cas is the one hanging onto the bars of the headboard, hips stuttering forward so damn carefully, like Dean’s made of glass. That’s gotta stop. </p><p>Dean relaxes back into the pillows as much as he can, and gets an easy rhythm going with his grip on Cas’ ass, forward and back. The world narrows down to just this, and Dean’s head is gloriously empty. There’s nothing but the weight of Cas in his mouth, the occasional bitter taste of pre-come, the flex of Cas’ muscles under his hands as he feels Cas gradually lose his inhibition and finally, finally fuck him like he wants. </p><p>“Dean, <em>Dean</em>.” </p><p>Cas drops one hand from the headboard to Dean’s hair, tugging and changing the angle until it’s just a perfect, wet slide, and Dean’s boneless from it. Now that Cas has got it figured out, Dean drops one hand from his ass to grip around his own dick, groaning around the cock in his mouth when he strokes from base to tip with the same rhythm of Cas’ thrusts. </p><p>Cas’ hand drifts down his face until he’s cupping his chin tight, keeping him steady. “Dean, I want - there’s something I want...” Cas gasps. </p><p>Dean nods, hoping that gets the message across that there’s nothing Dean wouldn’t give him, especially here, now, in this bed. </p><p>“Let me - your face. Can I, <em> god, </em>Dean. I’m so close, I want to see it -”</p><p>Hell yeah. Dean’s cock jerks in his hand, and he uses the other to pry Cas’ fingers from his jaw, wrapping them around the base of his dick. He tips his head back, letting the head of Cas’ cock pop free from his mouth. </p><p>“Whenever you’re ready, man,” Dean says, his voice rough and well-fucked. </p><p>Cas tips forward, sliding easily past Dean’s spit-slick lips. Then it’s just one, two, three more times, in and out and Dean barely shuts his eyes in time for the warm splashes of come across his face, some landing across his still-open mouth and sliding down his neck, some catching in his eyelashes and dripping past his temples into his hair. All to the soundtrack of Cas gasping above him, interspersed with a ridiculous litany of praise that Dean can’t possibly deserve. </p><p>Then before Dean can catch his breath, Cas is moving backward, resettling between his knees and swallowing his dick in one shockingly impressive go. Dean arches up into his mouth. </p><p>“Shit, sorry, fuck...” Dean says automatically, ingrained blowjob etiquette kicking in. He gives the cooling come on his face a cursory wipe before squinting down at Cas, who seems decidedly unbothered if the way he hollows his cheeks around his shaft is any indication. </p><p>Cas rolls his eyes, and it shouldn’t be possible to convey this much sarcasm with a mouth stuffed full of cock, and yet. </p><p>Dean throws an arm over his face, laughing and about to come and <em> god </em> he’s never had this much fun in bed before, ever. </p><p>Cas isn’t done though, apparently. Dean’s just hanging on for the ride when Cas uses both hands to spread his legs apart before reaching up and swiping at the come that’s managed to pool in the dip of his throat. Dean feels like he’s lit up, and so damn close to Cas like they're living in each other’s skin, stuck in the best feedback loop of all time. </p><p>Then there's a cool, wet fingertip tracing at the skin behind his balls, circling lower until Dean's getting some real ideas for what they might do next time.</p><p><em> Next time</em>, the certainty of it is so shocking that Dean almost loses focus, until Cas does something with his tongue that sends Dean careening back into the present.</p><p>Getting head from someone who doesn't need to take time for stupid, human things like breathing makes Dean feel like he's losing his mind via wet suction and the slide of Cas' tongue at his slit, and he barely gets out a garbled mix of nonsense, several expletives, and Cas' name before he's shooting down Cas' throat, his hands gripping his hair and holding Cas still. Cas swallows smoothly, humming like Dean's the generous one here. </p><p>Cas rests his forehead against his used-to-be-totally-flat belly and just breathes against his skin, interspersed with the occasional kiss as Dean runs his fingers through his hair, heartbeat settling. </p><p>"I like it like this," Dean says after a couple minutes have passed, twirling a longish strand behind Cas' ear. He's gotta be pilfering Sam's fancy conditioner or something - it's so damn soft.</p><p>"I thought I'd cut it off soon. Gets in the way when I’m gardening."</p><p>Dean's hand freezes in the hair at the base of Cas' neck. "Oh my God, no. I'll hide the scissors and the razor. Salt and burn ‘em just to be safe."</p><p>"I'm very good with knives and blades of all kinds, Dean, and we are decidedly well-stocked in that department."</p><p>"If you use an angel blade or a fuckin’ samurai sword to hack all this off," Dean says with a not-too-gentle tug, "I'll never forgive you."</p><p>Cas lifts his head off Dean's stomach. </p><p>"Mm. Well, in that case, I was thinking that the purgatory blade you've got hanging on your wall might have the right edge to get a really close shave, especially with the teeth on the end of it. Kitsune, was it? Or Shtriga?"</p><p>Dean drags both hands under Cas’ arms and pulls. Cas goes, laughing, until his full weight is settled over Dean’s chest again and he’s kissing at the corner of his mouth, his bridge of his nose, the shell of his left ear. It’s stupid and fun and kind of gross - there’s a lot of as-yet not-dealt-with come to be accounted for after all, but Dean doesn’t care. Doesn’t care at all. Instead, he’s hooking an ankle around Cas’ ass and imagining what next time will feel like. He’s gonna get Cas inside him. It’s gonna be so good. </p><p>It’s <em> all </em> gonna be so good. </p><p>*</p><p>“Hand me the pruners, please,” Cas says, extending a calloused palm out to Dean. </p><p>Dean had asked him once whether he had to purposefully let the callouses stay, preventing his grace from healing them. Cas had explained how he’d wanted to keep this little bit of evidence of his work on earth, on the roof of the bunker that he shares with his family (Jesus, his <em> family ,</em> that’s what they are, now). Dean had understood. </p><p>Dean steps over to the meticulously organized tool rack Dean himself had built earlier in the summer. </p><p>“The ones with the curved blades and the daisy-print handle,” Cas calls out, which is helpful, because there are at least eight things that look like they could conceivably be pruners. Dean can think of several lesser monsters that could be easily handled with any one of them. </p><p>Dean hands them over, and Cas tells him about how removing the suckers at the juncture of a tomato plant’s branch and main stem helps keep the plant structurally sound over the course of the season and improves overall fruit yield. Dean’s listening, but he’s also thinking about all the salsa and marinara he’s going to can in August. Or, a thick slice of an heirloom brandywine tomato on a perfectly grilled burger. Fuck, he’d even make Sam one of those freaky meat-substitute burgers from the fancy grocery store down in Hays. Make a real day of it. </p><p>“I’m utilizing a two week schedule for the application of organic neem oil to aid in the prevention of both arthropod infestation and mildew growth, truly a boon in this humid weather we’ve been having, and -” Cas stops, tipping his head to the side and eyeing Dean. “Are you listening?” </p><p>Dean is fully aware of the dumbass smile he’s got going on, loving the guy in front of him so damn much. He nods, slipping his arms around Cas’ waist and kissing the side of his sun-warmed neck before burying his face in Cas’ shoulder.</p>
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